Where do my bluebird fly?
by WinTTY
Summary: One-shot. Set in Sacrifice Chloe timeline, Max Caulfield is interviewed days before the release of her final piece to end her photography career.


Max sat patiently in the armchair located in her study, hands absentmindedly running up and down the fabric, legs crossed as her eyes focused on the group of young men and women talking quietly amongst themselves - preparing for the interview. Occasionally her hand drifted up to her face to brush her graying strands out of her face, her hair fashioned into a neat bob that she had sported for so long. She held a smile on her face for herself, happy with all the success she had found during her time.

At 78, Max Caulfield had lived a fulfilling life. She had become a world-famous photographer, winning multitudes of prizes ranging from Pulitzer to National Geographic - you name it, she had it. A philanthropist heart, she had donated much of her fortune to disaster relief programs in the past 30 years - global warming had forcibly relocated millions of people, destroying their lives in the process, and her money had allowed them to start anew in an ever changing world.

"Miss Caulfield? Is it alright if we start?"

Her eyes snapped to the source of the voice, the young man who had approached her quietly - Dean Bukowski, her interviewer.

"Yes, yes! Of course." Max spoke back with her smile and gestured Dean towards the armchair opposite her, a small coffee table present in between the two - old pictures of family and friends present on the furniture piece.

"Perfect. So to start with, why don't you introduce yourself?" Dean held a holopad with questions underneath him, adjusting his glasses as he spoke towards Max with a smile.

"Max Caulfield, world-renowned photographer, winner of multiple prizes and awards..- far too many to name if you'll excuse me, age has got the better of me sadly." Max crossed her hands across her lap as she replied, meeting Dean's gaze halfway with her deep blue eyes.

"Haha, of course. So to extend the history of your photography..- have you always had an interest in the subject? Perhaps you had some years where you pursued other avenues and hobbies?" Dean asked again and looked down at his holopad briefly to allow Max to compose her answer.

"Always. Since I was but a small child living with my parents, I had always taken interest in photography - in capturing the moments of life and nature. There were some..- odd years, that's for sure, but for as long as I can remember I had never wanted to stray from the path of photography, no matter how difficult it might've gotten at times." Max adjusted herself in her seat, sitting slightly more upright in the comfortable armchair. "I had other hobbies throughout my life, playing musical instruments, painting, drawing..- quite a lot. The older I got, the more photographs I had released and submitted, I saw myself with an overabundance of free time and no good way to spend it."

"Your other hobbies had also been met with some limited success, correct?"

"Yes, they have. I had managed to release a few acoustic songs in my youth - nothing quite chart topping, however they have had success - correct." Max nodded with her smile towards Dean.

"Yet it was your photography that had managed to catapult you into fame, wasn't it? Your first released photograph is still widely renowned today, it had managed to land on the front page of TIME in the 2020's from what I remember." Dean scratched the side of his head as he furrowed his eyebrows along, trying to think of the name of the photograph. "I believe it was the 'Old Americana' photograph, wasn't it?"

"Correct - it was a picture of an old junkyard containing relics of the past as I saw them. Car wrecks, billboards, neon signs - even a boat! To this day I still wonder why that boat had been there." Max chuckled quietly as she was joined by Dean moments later.

"What was the significance behind the photo?"

"Originally it had meant to be about capturing memories. I..- had associated myself with that place once upon a time, but as the world moved on and entered a short period of change and turmoil - I had believed it captured the essence of old, industrial America perfectly." Max nodded to herself as she closed her eyes.

"It had done just that it seems - you were awarded a Pulitzer prize the following year for it, quite the achievement for anyone." Dean nodded along with Max and ran his finger down the list of questions.

"When you've won as many awards, honours and prizes at me then they all become the same - pointless objects to hang up in your cabinet with no significant meaning anymore." Max admitted and heard Dean shuffle in his seat, looking up at Max below his glasses.

"That statement leads nicely into my next question - after a very long, very rewarding career you had finally decided to call it quits with one last release. Do you mind if you tell us a bit about it? The significance behind it, perhaps some hints as to what it may be?" Dean raised his eyebrow and tapped his holopad patiently.

"Whilst I won't disclose what it is, I can tell you some of the themes behind it - regret and sorrow." Max conceded and saw Dean scrunch up his face as he tapped away the air above his holopad, correcting something.

"So it could be safe to assume this'll be a melancholic piece? Perhaps a piece of the world's past, perhaps of yours?"

"A piece of mine - I believe it was only fair I had finally revealed a bit of my past after nearly 50 years in the business." Max spoke with a smile as she gestured over herself.

"Ah, so we'll finally get a peek into the life of the mysterious Max Caulfield?" Dean chuckled along with Max, his hands tapping away at the holopad.

"You might - it all depends on how people interpret it. This project had taken me..- oh gosh, even I can't remember. I'd be surprised if it was anything below 30 years." Max nodded and let out a giggle when she saw Dean's jaw drop in shock.

"30..- 30 years? Wow - that's quite some time you've spent on this piece."

"Well, it had taken me a long time to restore the piece even with today's technology - there's only so much a program can remake realistically. Besides, I hate those things." Max nodded to her statement and saw Dean note it down on his holopad. "It takes away from the authenticity of a photo."

"I see. Do you mind if we ask a bit about your personal life to top the interview off? Just some anomalies that stand out to the public." Dean held up his holopad and gestured to the questions for no reason, seeing Max scrunch up her face for a moment before nodding.

"Very well - ask away."

"This might be a bit too personal so you don't need to answer if you don't wish - you've been single your entire life, is that right? Never had a husband, wife, boyfriend or girlfriend?" Dean asked with a tinge of curiosity in his voice, seeing Max nod slowly.

"Yes, that's quite right."

"Yet it's no secret you had more than a dozen of famous suitors try to capture your heart - what had stopped you from accepting them?" Dean continued as he looked over his holopad and crossed out a few lines of text.

"A promise." Max confessed and dropped her head, heart clenched in her chest.

"A promise? Do you mind if we inquire a bit more about it?"

"I'd rather not reveal that part of my life. It's just something that I had gone through whilst a teenager - nothing more." Max curtly replied and drifted her hands to the sides of her armchair, stroking the fabric as she saw Dean raise an eyebrow but nod moments later.

"Very well. I believe that should conclude our interview Miss Caulfield - thank you very much for having us." Dean stood up and shook Max's hand slightly awkwardly.

"It's been my pleasure."

* * *

Max stood patiently on the raised balcony overlooking the gallery, a glass of champagne in her hand as she occasionally took sips of the drink. Below she could see the crowds of art appraisers, journalists and photographers watching over the large display that dominated much of the gallery. Quiet talking and whispers echoed around the room as people looked over the picture that had been revealed only minutes before. Her own eyes finally drifted back up to the display as she let out a quiet sigh.

A blue morpho butterfly perched on a steel bucket, an 18-year old hipster with a polaroid camera present in the reflection - herself stooped low to capture the insect in all of its beauty.

It was an important piece of Max's past, a defining moment in her life that had changed _everything_.

She ran her free hand under her eyes and wiped away the stray tears that had appeared, letting out a quiet sniffle as she ignored her heart. Her beats were irregular, thumping against her chest, the ache that had been present for so long only getting worse as she looked over the display.

"Miss Caulfield? I believe I have to congratulate you on a very, very successful career!"

"Oh, please - Dominic, how many times have I told you to call me Max?" Max called out as she turned around, swirling her champagne and meeting the gaze of the middle-aged gentleman clad in a smart tuxedo.

"I'm sorry ma'am, it's hard to talk casually to a titan of photography such as yourself." Dominic hung his head slightly and ran his hand over the greying stubble, a smile present on his face as he continued to walk towards Max.

"You've been managing my gallery for nearly two decades now, don't try and tell me that 20 years isn't enough for you to adjust." Max joked and heard Dominic chuckle in return.

"Alright, you got me." Dominic threw up his hands in defeat as he took his place beside Max, eyes wondering over the crowds below appraising the display. "I have to say, I'm going to miss these events."

"Miss them? Dominic, I'm hardly the only artist who hosts events here - we have an entire hall besides this one dedicated to young whippersnappers who constantly book places here." Max pointed out and heard the quiet sigh escape Dominic.

"It won't be like this though, will it? You've dominated photography for decades ma'am, your displays always attract hundreds from all over the world. The young ones..- they're not the same." Dominic admitted and heard Max chuckle, the woman taking a sip of her champagne as she herself looked over the crowds.

"Give them time - soon enough one of them will replace me and you'll be back in the swing of things." Max spoke quietly and leaned forward on the glass barrier, eyes lingering over the blue morpho as it had a faint shimmer to it - just as magical as the first time she had seen it.

"Maybe, maybe not. You'll visit at least I hope? I'd hate to host all these events without knowing you were there to attend and encourage the youngsters." Dominic looked over at Max and saw her smile.

"Dominic, this is still my gallery - I will continue to attend these events for as long as I own it and you know that."

"Sorry..- guess I'm just uneasy about it all. Never thought I'd see you retiring, that's all ma'am." Dominic dropped his head again and fumbled with his hands.

"Did you expect me to continue releasing photographs until my late 90's? Also, for goodness sake, stop calling me ma'am - it's Max."

"Sorry ma'a..- Max."

"Now I have to get back down there and mingle with the guests, you'll keep things running from up here?" Max shot a glance at Dominic as she turned around, sipping on her champagne again.

"Of course. Also there's a message from Mrs. Chase for you - she says she'll be slightly late but will make it for the second event at least."

"Better than not attending I s'pose." Max shrugged and heard Dominic chuckle behind her as she left.

* * *

The 2063 Seattle Skyline was a sight to behold. Skyscrapers towered above the city, some of the tallest in the world - no longer had they just contained offices - they now contained habitats, indoor gardens, entire malls. The world had begun to change in the past 30 years and it prompted a huge architectural renaissance. Instead of building out, people had to build up. Hong Kong University had produced some of the finest architectural minds in the past century, many of their designs allowing cities to almost ignore the effects of eroding coastlines whilst nations tried to fight the effects.

Max Caulfield sat quietly in her lounge chair on the balcony of her penthouse, located far above the old Magnolia district of the city. She had a view of everything, a full 360 degree lookout over the entire city and the Puget Sound just in front of her. It cost a lot, but she had deserved it after her successful life - she had more than paid her dues with her relief projects around the world.

Her hand tapped away at the holopad that rested on her stomach, an old novel displayed above as she flicked the pages and read it quietly to herself. She held a glass of wine in her other, and old vintage she had received as a gift from Victoria Chase only a few days ago - something from the blonde's own stocks.

She found it hard to concentrate, her head constantly swimming in her thoughts as she lingered over the memories of her last display - her farewell to the world of photography that she had dominated for much of her life.

It wasn't a good piece and it wasn't meant to be. It was simply a dedication to a long lost love, one that she had remained faithful to her entire life. It took her over 30 years to restore, enlarge and perfect the polaroid. Originally she had found it torn apart, creased, yellowed with time. It was feat in itself even with the modern marvels of technology. After all, who supported analogue photography in the latter half of the 21st century? No matter, she powered through and never complained through the three decades she spent on it.

It was her last memory of her teenage years, all others being lost in a supernatural occurrence that she still had accepted after all these years. Max Caulfield was able to rewind time, was able to pluck the strings of reality and bend it to her will - but what did it get her?

Heartache for the rest of her life.

"Hmph." Max grunted quietly and shuffled herself up from the lounge chair, dropping her holopad on the small table beside her. She took a sip of her wine, ignoring the buzz she was receiving - more so relishing the perfect taste it had acquired during its aging process.

The woman allowed her legs to carry her over towards the edge of her balcony, leaning forward on the barrier as she looked down at the sound only a few hundred metres away from the building she resided it.

Somehow she had always managed to catch the golden hour during its peak - the sun shining over the shimmering water below, casting a long reflection over the entirety of it. Every time it had reminded her of two distinct moments in her teenage life, moments that occurred in the week that never was. Every time it only pained her more, and more, ripping tiny shreds from her frail psyche that had never actually recovered from her experience.

Every time she considered going back, even though she knew she couldn't.

Max quietly watched over the sun as it set beyond the various mountains and islands that peeked out on the horizon, slowly disappearing behind it all before darkness had finally fallen over everything. She turned herself around and looked out over the city instead, leaning against the barrier as she took in the towering building all around.

There was a beauty to this too - neon lights shining from everything, blinking signs, windows lit up by occupants of the rooms they covered. Despite her being located near the city centre, she couldn't hear anything but the wind - maybe the occasional sound of a passing bird. Living in a penthouse had its perks.

She smirked as she finally finished her wine, walking her way back to her lounge chair to retrieve her holopad. The graying brunette made her way inside her large studio apartment, placing her empty glass beside the open bottle of the vintage - holopad just next to it.

With a clap of her hands the lights dimmed around the room slightly, her walls instead being lit up as they displayed her pieces of art - photographs, sketches, drawings and paintings. Each piece was unique, never displayed publically and never shown to anyone but her closest friends. There was a bit of everything - pictures of her friends, her family, sketches and drawings of landscapes.

Yet it was all meek and feeble compared to the grand display that was located in the middle of it all - a polaroid picture wall, each one colour coded carefully so that it had created one image, one picture of a companion that had been present throughout Max's entire life.

A blue morpho.

Once again her heart ached, more than it had in years - she ran her hands over her eyes and finally let out a quiet sob.

She couldn't do this anymore.

50 years was far too long to wait.

* * *

The bedroom was quiet, dimly lit by blue lights that peeked out from underneath the platform bed. More artworks had been displayed around the room, smaller and more intimate in some areas - parts of private collections that were donated, gifted to the woman over the years. It was all contrasting with each other as it had a bit of everything - hyperrealism, cartoons, oil works, analogue, digital and even holo sculptures.

On the bed she lay, quietly, hands crossed as she was covered in her blanket.

Beside her was her nightstand, completely empty besides one thing.

A bottle.

Painkillers.

Empty.

The blue morpho beat its wings outside a few more times, slower with each flap - eventually fading away as it looked on.

With one more flap it flew away and shimmered into non-existence.

* * *

Max Caulfield died at the age of 78 from an overdose, lying peacefully in her bed - only days after the release of her final piece.

Friends and distant family were distraught as they didn't understand - they had never seen the woman unhappy, never seen her sad or depressed. She was vibrant, full of joy and compassion, always pushing others to be the same.

That's who she was to everyone though.

Nobody ever knew what she really was like. Nobody had even witnessed, lived through the week that never was. Nobody had the experience, the knowledge, the memories of the events that led to the superstorm which threatened to wipe out Arcadia Bay.

In truth, Max Caulfield was always broken, always suffering from nightmares - memories of her teenage years, of the one week that she had erased. Of the girl she had sacrificed to save so many more. Of the love, the soulmate, she had let go to allow others to live and go on to do great things.

It haunted her every living day and photography was her escape.

It only allowed her to run so far though.

* * *

The brunette fluttered her eyes a few moments later, shooting up to her feet almost immediately as she heard the wind around her - the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs nearby. It all felt familiar to the woman as she looked around.

She saw the path that led to where she was, the trees that covered either side, the occasional boulder or rock - she even spotted the small animals scurrying around in the light underbrush of the forest nearby. Her eyes shot to her right as she continued to inspect the area.

The lighthouse towered high above, the small utility building beside it - the familiar makeshift fire pit in front of a rock, cinder blocks surrounding it as seats for the teenagers that had used it decades ago. The deep blue eyes continued their path down, finally resting on the wooden bench only a few feet away.

Her heart jumped and rose up in her throat as she failed to catch her breath.

A beanie-less, blue-haired punk sat quietly on the bench, hands beside her as she was leaning back and staring at the sun over the bay.

 _Chloe._

Max felt as her knees nearly gave way then and there, eyes glued to the feminine figure as it slowly rose from the bench and turned around - facing her.

She was as beautiful as ever, not aging a day. Her azure blue eyes peeked out from beneath her short strands of blue, the trademark grin on her face, the signature white tank-top with the tattoo running down her arm, hands on her hips that wore the torn jeans - suspenders loosely hanging on the side.

"Well, what are ya waiting for hippie?"

Max didn't even register the movement of her legs as she approached the taller girl.

Fingers intertwined slowly as they continue to press closer, the brunette more so than the punk, their bodies perfectly slotting into each other as if they'd been made for one another. Only then had Max realised she no longer was the 78-year old woman, instead she was the 18-year old hipster who had torn the world apart decades ago - the dorky pink t-shirt, grey hoodie and jeans being her outfit.

A soft hand rested over her cheek as she closed her eyes and moved into the touch, the torrent of emotions flooding her at that very moment as she smiled and shed happy tears.

Their lips touched moments later, their bodies silhouetted against the sun as it shined on during the golden hour yet again - the blissful moment lasting for an eternity as Max was finally happy.

Max and Chloe would finally be together for all of existence.

* * *

A/N-

I don't know why I wrote this but I did and now I hate myself but yah.

Make what you will of this.

\- :) WinTTY


End file.
